


We'll Go Together

by squiddtastic



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Geralt is SO affection starved, M/M, Post-Blood and Wine (The Witcher 3 DLC), like tooth-rotting fluff, they live together in Corvo Bianco and they are happy and in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-10
Updated: 2020-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:20:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23086141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squiddtastic/pseuds/squiddtastic
Summary: It was said there were lovely flowers here. He supposes the flowers aren't too bad. He doesn't understand them, he doesn't know their types or the meanings that they hold, but he knows this matters to Regis. So he picks them.--Regis has a small project in mind, so he and Geralt pick flowers.
Relationships: Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Comments: 24
Kudos: 160
Collections: Best Geralt, Regis Rocks





	We'll Go Together

**Author's Note:**

> [Wild Mountain Thyme is a good song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_G9VEvEx1Bc&feature=youtu.be)
> 
> I had so much fun writing these two being soft flower gays in love

It's a beautiful day in Toussaint. The sun is at its peak, its warmth spreading across the duchy, bestowing a sense of calm to all who stand beneath it. The grass is a lush, emerald green, swaying softly in the light breeze, disturbed only by the excited steps of carefree children. The birds occasionally fly overhead, cheerfully singing their songs, reminding the world of their presence. And Geralt, contrary to what people might expect of him, is picking flowers.

He is kneeling on the ground under a large, towering tree, clumsily grabbing at all of the different types of flowers he can find. His home isn't far from here, he need merely look to his left and Corvo Bianco would be in full view, but it was said there were lovely flowers here. He supposes the flowers aren't too bad. He doesn't understand them, he doesn't know their types or the meanings that they hold, but he knows this matters to Regis. So he picks them.

Regis. The one he is doing this for, who told him of these so-called lovely flowers. The one he so badly wants to please. Geralt wants to see the smile on his face, the overjoyed expression he will wear when he sees all the work that Geralt has put into this. Because Geralt has put more work into this than he'd care to admit. He wants Regis to understand just how much he means to him. He wants to make Regis happy. He will do whatever he can to make that happen. 

So he picks the flowers under the massive tree, whose leaves are bright and glistening under the sun's rays. He gently – yet awkwardly – places them in the basket that is situated beside him. He moves with care, as much care as he is able. Some leaves are crushed under his rough and calloused fingers, some stems are bent, some petals have fallen, but Regis won't mind. He knows this. And yet he still tries.

He fills the basket. It is bursting with flowers of all shapes and colours – pinks, yellows, reds, purples. Some tall and slim, others short and wide. He hopes he has done enough. He hopes that he hasn't messed up. He's not used to this.

He stands up and dusts off his clothes. He carefully picks up the basket so as not to disrupt his hastily put together arrangement. It's not great, he thinks, but it's the best he could do. He looks over his shoulder and can't help but smile at the sight that greets him.

Regis is also kneeling on the ground. He is smiling softly as he reaches over to gently pick a bright purple flower from the ground, placing it in his own basket with a kind of care that Geralt never tires of seeing. His arrangement is far tidier than the Witcher's is. He is humming softly as he works; Geralt can hear it. It is a lovely song, a peaceful song, and Geralt simply wants to stand there and bask in the comfort it brings. But he wants to talk to Regis more, so he takes a deep breath and approaches.

When Regis notices him, his humming ceases as he looks up. His smile widens. His smile is warm, and Geralt notices that his fangs are peaking out ever so slightly. His heart skips a beat. He's seen this smile many times before, and yet he will always adore it. Regis finishes placing one last flower in his basket before standing up. He picks a piece of grass off of his trousers before looking back up at Geralt. He reaches and picks a small leaf out of the Witcher's hair. Geralt makes a face, and Regis chuckles softly. When Regis notices Geralt's full to bursting basket, he shoots him a playful look.

"You've been hard at work, I see," the vampire comments, gently moving a hand to caress one of the large, red flowers on top. Geralt nods.

"Did it all for you."

Regis glances back up at him and smiles softly. An expression of pure adoration.

"Thank you, Geralt. Truly."

Geralt feels a burst of pride. He smiles and nods again, handing Regis the basket. Regis carefully takes it.

"What are these for, anyway?" Geralt asks as Regis turns around to pick up his own basket. He holds them up and examines them with narrowed and critical eyes, seeming to be happy with what he sees.

"You'll see," is all he says. Geralt scoffs, but it carries no heat.

"Okay, I see how it is," he begins, crossing his arms. "Normally you can't stop yourself from talking and explaining yourself, but the minute it's me asking about all of my hard work, you're suddenly quiet." Regis's eyes flicker towards him, a lively glint flashing in them.

"Now, now, Geralt," he chides, lowering the baskets to hold them at his sides. "You know I care for you deeply and would never keep secrets from you, but you will simply have to be patient. It won't take long."

Geralt narrows his eyes and examines the vampire closely, eyes darting across his face, trying to discern anything from his expression. But Geralt knows this is a battle he could never hope to win. He sighs in defeat, his arms uncrossing and his shoulders sagging slightly. 

"Fine."

Regis grins, fangs flashing in a subtle display of trust that Geralt adores. A smile that is reserved only for him. He takes a step towards the Witcher and places a soft kiss on his cheek.

"Thank you, dear. Now go, I'll find you when I've finished."

Geralt could never stay annoyed with Regis. It was impossible. He visibly relaxes and reaches out a hand to caress the side of the vampire's face with a feather-light touch. Regis instinctively leans into it and closes his eyes, a look of utter content on his face as he lets out a small sigh. Geralt smiles at that, softly rubbing his thumb against the vampire's cheek before removing his hand. Regis's eyes flutter open, filled completely with fondness, and he leans in towards him. But Geralt abruptly turns around and walks off. He hears Regis grunt in frustration. Geralt smirks to himself.

"Hurry up with your little project, and there'll be more where that came from," he calls over his shoulder.

He can't see it, but he knows Regis is smiling.

* * *

Geralt sits atop the hill behind Corvo Bianco, under the massive tree that he always tends to gravitate towards. He remembers Ciri, how every time she visits she insists on relaxing under this very tree while they catch up. Geralt has suggested other places, places with perfectly good benches and soft blankets, but she refuses every time. Geralt smiles as he rests his head against the cold trunk, eyes closing instinctively. 

Much has changed since their first meeting in Brokilon. Much has changed since he had first brought her to Kaer Morhen. Much has changed since they'd defeated the Wild Hunt. And one of the most prominent changes, he realises, is that he is happy. _Truly_ happy. 

He has a family now. He lives with the one he loves, the one he wants to spend the rest of eternity with. He can't remember ever feeling so deeply for someone, through magical spells or otherwise. He has a daughter who lives her own life but still visits him when she can. A daughter who loves him and accepts everything about him – a daughter who also adores the one he loves.

Geralt truly can't understand how he's ended up here. He doesn't know what he's done to deserve it. But he isn't going to question it. He's happy here. He is so, overwhelmingly happy here.

He hears soft, barely perceptible footsteps, walking in a pattern that he's come to know so well. The scent of fresh herbs wafts towards him immediately, filling his senses before he even opens his eyes. He smiles again as he does.

Regis is walking towards him, his hands behind his back, concealing something. What he's been working on, Geralt assumes. He stands up and looks at the vampire inquisitively, moving and lifting his head in an attempt to see what he's hiding. Regis narrows his eyes playfully and twists his body to keep what he's hiding concealed.

"You know," Regis begins, stopping in front of Geralt, "I would have thought they'd teach young witchers a bit more patience, in all of that rigorous training."

"There's one thing you haven't considered," Geralt replies simply. Regis tilts his head and raises an eyebrow.

"And what's that?"

"That I love you, and I want to see what you did. Will you show me what you have now?"

Regis blinks in surprise, his face heating up ever so slightly as he stares at the witcher in front of him. Eventually he clears his throat as the corners of his lips twitch into a smile.

"Of course. Close your eyes and hold out your hands."

Geralt makes a face. "Really?" Regis shoots him a look, but the smile is still apparent on his face.

"Yes, really," he sighs, rolling his eyes teasingly. "They might not be able to train you for love, but the least you can do is play along."

Geralt grins but shrugs his shoulders as he obediently closes his eyes and holds out his hands. Regis makes a pleased sound, and Geralt feels something being placed in his hands. It's light and circular. Study, yet soft. He can feel the velvety petals of flowers gracing his skin as he shifts the object around in his hands. He purses his lips in thought as he tries to identify what it is.

"You can open them now."

Geralt does. He sucks in a breath as he glances at the object in his hands. It's nothing special, really; a crown made of flowers, crafted expertly with deft movements and a fine hand. The flowers are bright and colourful, arranged in a way that accentuates the beauty in their palettes. Geralt swallows thickly as an unexpected sense of feeling and emotion fills his senses, making his head spin and his throat feel tight. Geralt does not smile immediately, and this causes Regis's face to contort into an expression of concern.

"Geralt?" he begins hesitantly, raising a hand to tentatively touch the Witcher's shoulder. "Are you alright?"

Geralt feels tears pricking at his eyes, but he blinks them away. He turns his head and coughs once before nodding his head.

"Yeah." His voice his strained, but he smiles, making eye contact with the concerned vampire in front of him. He lifts one of his hands and places it over the one Regis has positioned on his shoulder. "Yeah, I'm okay. Just... never got a gift like this before."

Regis's expression shifts rapidly, yet subtly, into many emotions that Geralt can't discern, but he settles on a look that makes Geralt feel as though they are the only two beings in the world. His eyes are soft and full of fondness, adoration, overwhelming love, and Geralt can feel the tears once more.

"Oh, Geralt," Regis's voice is gentle, barely audible. "You think you don't..."

He trails off, staring intently into the Witcher's moistened eyes. Geralt tries hard to maintain eye contact. Regis moves to pick up the crown of flowers from his still outstretched hand, placing it on Geralt's head with such care that Geralt feels like his heart might burst. Regis's hands move to hold either side of Geralt's face, thumb delicately stroking over his scar. He tenderly guides his head towards him, placing a soft and meaningful kiss on his forehead, before pulling away to gaze at him once more.

"I adore you, my love. You deserve so much more than this silly crown."

Geralt bites his lip as his throat constricts even more, and he does the only thing he can think to do. He reaches towards Regis and holds him close, face burying into his neck. He inhales deeply, relishing in the calming aroma of wormwood and cinnamon that have come to bring him more comfort than anything else ever has. Geralt holds on tightly and Regis matches his hold, his hands slowly rubbing circles against Geralt's back as he whispers numerous endearments into his ear. Geralt closes his eyes tightly. His grip becomes even more firm.

They stay like that for a while, the shade of the tree shielding them from the sun's rays. The birds continue to fly overhead and the grass continues to sway in the breeze, but neither Geralt nor Regis pay that any mind. To them, in this moment, they are the only two beings that exist. The rest of the world is shut off. Nothing matters besides the fact that they are _together_. The fact that they are in love, the fact that they care for each other more than they have ever cared about anything before, and the fact that nothing in the world will ever change that.

When Geralt finally pulls away, he feels that his cheeks are slightly damp. Regis instinctively moves to wipe the tears with a gentle stroke of his thumb. Geralt blinks a few times before raising a hand to rub at the damp mark he's made on Regis's gambeson. 

"Sorry," he mumbles. Regis smiles and shakes his head slowly, running one hand softly down the side of the Witcher's neck to lightly rest on his shoulder.

"Please, Geralt," he replies, voice soft and smooth as silk. "You've no need to apologize. Come, let's sit for a while, shall we?"

And so they move towards the towering tree that radiates comfort and sit, backs against the trunk, Geralt's head laying in Regis's lap as Regis's gentle fingers work the knots out of Geralt's hair. He's careful so as not to disrupt the placement of the flower crown on his head. They share a comfortable silence, words spoken loudly through slow movements and loving touches. The only sounds that can be heard around them are the birds' songs, the rustling of leaves, the rushing water of a stream, and the occasional crow of a passing pheasant. 

And it's perfect. Geralt could ask for nothing more. This is where he wants to be, this is who he wants to spend the rest of his life with. He knows that Regis feels the same. He closes his eyes and smiles, reaching up to hold one of the vampire's hands, fingers clasping together as Regis's other hand continues to draw light circles in Geralt's hair. Geralt's thumb absentmindedly moves against his fingers, and Regis gently squeezes.

Neither of them notice how long they stay there for. Neither of them care. Geralt eventually falls asleep.

There's no place he'd rather be than here.


End file.
